Chapter 9 An Urn

The Zimmermans' courtyard was bustling with activity, brimming with energy and excitement. Riverton's elite had gathered, and luxury cars lined the streets outside. Today marked Chadwick Zimmerman's 80th birthday—a momentous occasion for a man who was a living legend. Chadwick was not just a Level 3 martial artist but also a highly influential businessman. His ventures included the Faraway Group and over ten entertainment establishments, granting him extensive connections. The Zimmermans were, without a doubt, a top-tier aristocratic family in Riverton. "Dalton Real Estate presents a pair of white jade. "Sincere Antiques presents a string of rosary. "Chestville Pawnshop presents a pair of jade scepters." At the grand entrance, the butler stood, loudly announcing the extravagant gifts brought by prominent families. Each gift was easily worth six figures, showcasing the wealth and respect Chadwick commanded. Amidst this grandeur, Sherman arrived. He carried a simple black plastic bag, his expression calm and cold. His appearance instantly drew attention. In contrast to the finely dressed crowd, Sherman's sportswear made him stand out, seemingly misplaced in such a formal gathering. Unfazed by the curious stares, Sherman headed straight for the main entrance, where he was promptly stopped. A stern bodyguard in a suit and sunglasses stepped forward, asking in a deep voice, "Who are you?" "I'm here to wish Chadwick a happy birthday. Let me through," Sherman replied firmly. There was a commanding aura about him that unsettled the bodyguard, who hesitated momentarily. By the time he regained his composure, Sherman had already walked past him. Sherman approached the butler and casually handed over the black plastic bag. The butler, acting out of instinct, took the bag, opened it, and found ... an urn. "An urn!" The butler's voice rang out, and as soon as the words were spoken, his face changed drastically. "What? Are you provoking us?" Meanwhile, Sherman had already made his way into the inner hall. Inside, the elite of Riverton's industries had gathered. At 80 years old, Chadwick was still full of vigor. The sharp glint in his eyes commanded respect and caution. The atmosphere had been lively and celebratory, but the moment the announcement about the urn reached the hall, it turned icy cold. Chadwick's previously warm smile faded into a stern expression. Julius, standing by Chadwick's side, slammed the table in fury. "Who dares to bring such an ill-omened gift on this day?" he bellowed. "It's me!" Sherman's calm voice echoed as he walked in, his piercing gaze locking onto Julius. "You had the audacity to try and scheme against me." Julius's face twisted in anger. "You insolent brat!" he snarled. "This is no place for the likes of you. Apologize to my father and get out!" Sherman stood unyielding, his hands clasped behind his back. "Who do you think you are? I have two demands. First, transfer 200 million to me immediately. "Second, all you Zimmermans must kneel and apologize to me." Sherman believed the punishment he proposed was already very lenient. If not for his master's dying wish, which stressed resolving conflicts peacefully whenever possible and avoiding violence, he would not have bothered wasting time. He would have simply taken action and eliminated the Zimmermans outright. "Hahaha!" The hall erupted in laughter at Sherman's audacious words. "Is this kid serious?" "He's completely lost it!" "Demanding an apology from the Zimmermans? What a joke." "He's finished." ... Frank's face contorted with rage. "You little punk, how dare you extort us? You'll be the first and the last! You must have a death wish!" Sherman smirked, amused by the reaction. "Extortion? Do you even understand the concept of shame? "Let me remind you. Years ago, my master saved Julius's life, and in return, your family handed over five percent of the shares. "Yesterday, I intended to sell the shares to you, but in the end, you intercepted the funds. How shameless can you be!" Sherman thought inwardly, acknowledging that his own lack of social experience had contributed to this result. "Rubbish!" Frank snapped angrily. "My family has always been honorable. Stop spreading slander. Someone, throw him out!" "Wait," Chadwick interjected, fixing his gaze on Sherman. "Young man, today is my birthday, and I don't want anything unpleasant. Let's settle this peacefully. I'll give you 100,000 if you leave." Frank immediately caught on, pulled a checkbook from his pocket, quickly wrote out a check for 100,000, and approached Sherman. "I've seen people like you before—you're just after money. Here, take this. A hundred thousand should last you a while." Holding the check in front of Sherman, Frank suddenly released it, letting it flutter to the ground. "Pick it up and leave, country bumpkin," he sneered. The room erupted in laughter as the elite attendees looked at Sherman like he was a joke. Sherman did not even glance at the check on the floor. Instead, he spoke with a cold determination, "I walk my own path, and today, I declare—the Zimmermans are finished." The declaration drew another wave of laughter. The onlookers exchanged mocking glances, treating Sherman's words as mere delusions of a fool. Bring down the Zimmermans? The family was at its peak, wielding significant power and influence. For a mere youth to claim he could topple them was as absurd as saying he could pluck the moon from the sky. Chadwick's face turned stern. "Young man, the Zimmermans is a virtuous and charitable household. I've already offered you money. What more do you want? Greed can lead to trouble—remember that." His words carried an undertone of warning. Sherman, unwilling to waste more words, scanned the room and said firmly, "This is a personal matter between me and the Zimmermans. I suggest the rest of you leave now if you don't want to get caught up in this." "Arrogant brat!" A muscular middle-aged man shot to his feet, glaring at Sherman. "Do you have a death wish, threatening us?" A curvaceous woman with a frosty smile added mockingly, "Old Mr. Zimmerman is far too kind to deal with you himself. Leave this trivial matter to us." One by one, the influential figures voiced their support for the Zimmermans. This was a prime opportunity to gain favor with the family, and no one wanted to miss out. Before long, bodyguards began pouring into the hall, their numbers quickly surpassing a hundred. Each one was well-built and exuded an intimidating presence. Frank, feigning magnanimity, said with a hypocritical smile, "Even though you came to extort money from my family, we are benevolent. I'll give you one last chance—take the money and leave, and we'll forget about this." Slap! Sherman slapped Frank's face. "You talk too much, fool," he sneered. The force of the slap sent Frank spinning a full 360 degrees in mid-air before he crashed heavily to the ground. Half of his face swelled grotesquely, his eyes bulging in disbelief before he passed out cold. Sherman had infused the slap with secret energy. Though it was not immediately apparent, the delayed effects would be devastating—without the intervention of a Level 7 martial artist or higher, Frank's life would be in grave danger within days. The hall fell deathly silent. All eyes were wide with shock at what had just transpired. Julius roared in fury, his voice trembling with rage. "You wretched beast! How dare you strike my son? What are you all standing around for? Kill him now!" He rushed to Frank's side, his expression twisted in panic and anger. The bodyguards, galvanized by Julius's command, raised their iron rods and charged at Sherman with murderous intent. Sherman's expression turned icy. It seemed a massacre was inevitable today. The true energy coursing through his veins began to surge, ready to explode with overwhelming force. "Stop!" A thunderous voice boomed from outside, halting everything in its tracks.